“It’s okay. Is everything all right?” I frown, hating how concerned he seems.
“Everything’s fine. I just—are you okay? I’ve been thinking about you all night. Had to come check on you.” His gaze goes to the window, and I can tell he’s watching Spencer in the kitchen. His eyes narrow, as if he doesn’t like what he sees, and I’m almost amused. I might’ve even laughed if my teeth weren’t chattering from the cold.
“I’m all right,” I say, my voice soft. “I’ve known Spencer a long time. He’s my brother’s best friend. We have—history.”
That’s such a simple way to put it. History.
“I don’t like ‘em.”
Now I do laugh, shaking my head. “Why not? What did he ever do to you?”
“It’s more what he did to you. Showing up here without a warning. You were shocked. I saw it all over your face. And you don’t need trouble sniffing around here when you’re just trying to live peacefully by yourself. Because I can tell that’s what he is, Miss Lancaster. Trouble,” Roland mutters, sniffing loudly.
“I didn’t tell anyone where I would be. I don’t have my old phone, so no one can reach me. How could he warn me that he was arriving?” I smile, trying to ease my sweet-yet-sour-when-only-Spencer-is-around caretaker who’s far too invested in my personal well-being. Though I do appreciate his protectiveness, I also want to be alone with Spencer.
Especially after what happened yesterday.
“How did he even find you, hmm? When you didn’t want to be found?”
“Breakfast is ready.”
We both turn to find Spencer standing there, half hanging out the open door. His expression is grim, his eyes dark and aimed straight at Roland, who glares at him in return.
“Sylvie, it’s cold out here.” Spencer’s voice is extra deep. “Come inside.”
He doesn’t ask. He’s telling me.
“We can talk later,” I tell Roland, offering him a quick smile before I turn and walk back into the house, Spencer following close behind me. He shuts and locks the door and I turn to face him, noting the determined look on his face.
“You’re jealous of Roland.”
“I’m not jealous. I just don’t want him convincing you that my intentions are bad,” he says, returning to the stove and plating our breakfast. “He doesn’t know you. Not like I do.”
“Youarejealous,” I murmur as I sit at the table, reaching for the cup of coffee waiting for me. I bring it to my lips and take a sip, pleased to find it’s exactly as I like it. “You’re the one I was on my knees for yesterday. Don’t forget that.”
He sets the plate down almost violently in front of me, the toast nearly falling off from the forceful impact. “I haven’t forgotten.”
I remain quiet, sipping my coffee, watching him play house, much like I did yesterday at lunch. We are quite the pair. What’s real, what’s fake? I don’t even know anymore.
That I can’t define us is almost comforting. It’s what I’m used to with Spencer. We’ve never been able to fully define what’s happening between us, and that’s mostly my fault. I’m the one who’s always been sketchy, who can’t commit. Who was forced to marry another man when that was the last thing I wanted to do.
We should discuss what’s happening between us, but I can’t muster up the courage. Not yet. I’m enjoying spending time with Spencer too much to ruin it with a serious conversation, despite his wavering moods toward me.
I like it best when it’s just the two of us, Roland is our only distraction, and he’s not much of one. There have always been other forces working against us. My mother. My brother. School. His friends. Me. His family.
My husband.
My loveless, pointless marriage to Earl ruined things between us, especially when I ran off and married someone else immediately after having sex with Spencer. But then again, I was the one with his dick in my mouth yesterday, so I guess I win in the end.
Bonus, him giving me that spectacular orgasm. I’m still tingly over it. Hence the reason I wore my robe and nothing else.
But is it really about winning and losing between us? It’s not a game, what we share. My feelings for Spencer are real and they run deep. He feels something for me too. He has to. Why else would he come across the country to make sure I’m all right?
We eat in silence, and I marvel at the delicious eggs he prepared. They’re light and fluffy, with just the right amount of salt. The toast is cooked to perfection, buttery and crisp. Don’t even get me started on the coffee.
That he made this for me makes it all taste that much better.
I’m taking my last bite of eggs when Spencer finally speaks, and I nearly choke on my food at what he says.